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Kevin Long Poem
I knew my father,
He was silence,
existent.., but yet, not so;
a still, quiet, emptiness,
like darkness, or mulling
the unknown.
Who were you?
I knew you as the emotion that silence sings,
as a soulful indifference,
to crown your prince,
a hollow king.
I knew you,
as a yearning, flameless burning,
I so sought to quench,
as scarless wounds, so
deeply entrenched.
I knew you.., silence.
Silence sings, no wings to fly,
Silence sings, no tears to cry,
Silence sings, no heart to break,
memories or home to make.
Silence is neither truth, nor lie
Silence neither does, nor dies.
Yet, silence sings the weight you bare,
when your father’s love, is rarely there...
I knew my father..,
and though his glimmer
is well beyond dim,
as in life,
now death,
just Shhhhhh...,
that’s him…..,
Silence…
Copyright © Kevin Long | Year Posted 2006
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Kevin Long Poem
Am I?
What is Black? If I’m brown, am I Black?
Am I black if I don’t carry the legacy of slaves on my back?
What if my culture spans Asia, or Europe,
but my skin is red, brown or black; how bout’ that?
Would you call me Black?
Suppose my skin is light or damn near White, and I live all that is
quote Black, culture or plight, I must be Black then, right?
What is Black? If I am an African who does not share the
Afro American’s history of despair, what am I.., Black,
the same as those in America who dunk balls or rap?
What is Black? Is it music, suffrage or pain that makes me Black;
my relationship to Africa, religion or something like that?
Is it all of these things that make me Black,
If so, and tell me if you know,
If I’m brown, am I Black? If my skin is light
or damn near white and I live all that is
quote black and…….
Copyright © Kevin Long | Year Posted 2006
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